


Instagram Ficlets Collection

by Malandra



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftercare, Angst, Blowjobs, Bottom Dean, Closet Sex, Couch Sex, Cuddling, Cute, Daddy Kink, Dark Dean, Dean in Panties, Demon Dean, Doctor Sam, Doctor/Patient, Evil Dean, Facials, First Kiss, Fluffy, Hospital Sex, Lap Sex, Light Bondage, M/M, Medical Patient Dean, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Panties, Panty Kink, Phone Sex, Riding, Rimming, Rough Sex, Sex in the Impala, Sleep Sex, Slow Sex, Spanking, Stanford Era, Teasing, Top Cas, Top Sam, Wall Sex, handjobs, pre-Stanford era, sex on camera
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2014-11-13
Packaged: 2018-02-18 23:50:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 9,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2366522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malandra/pseuds/Malandra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a collection of the ficlets I've been posting on my shared Instagram account (dudeyes.dudeno). We take requests on Instagram, and I'll take requests here on AO3 as well.<br/>Ch 1 - Sleepy Sex, Wincest<br/>Ch 2 - Phone Sex, Wincest<br/>Ch 3 - Closet Handjob, Destiel<br/>Ch 4 - Post-Case Sex, Wincest<br/>Ch 5 - Cuddling, Wincest<br/>Ch 6 - Doctor/Patient, Wincest<br/>Ch 7 - Pre-Standford, Wincest<br/>Ch 8 - Camera Sex, Dean in panties, Wincest<br/>Ch 9 - Demon!Dean, Wincest<br/>Ch 10 - Facial, Wincest<br/>Ch 11 - Wall Sex, Wincest<br/>Ch 12 - Angst, Destiel<br/>Ch 13 - In Which Dean Teases Sam and Sam Fucks His Brains Out</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sleepy Sex

Sam creeps back into the bunker with an armful of groceries, carefully setting them down and then quietly making his way to their room. Dean's sprawled across the entire bed, blankets kicked away and twisted around his left ankle. He's wearing one of Sam's old Stanford sweatshirts, though it's rucked up at the back to show off the high-riding curves of his ass and the tantalizing dip of his spine. Sam has the sudden urge to drag his tongue up that dip, follow it up to where the bumps of his vertebrae push again the skin at the base of his neck. Dean shifts in his sleep, burying his face in the pillow and breathing out Sam's name.

"Morning," Sam says quietly, sliding carefully back into bed and half-covering Dean's body with his own. Dean snuffles and mumbles something incomprehensible.

"What?"

"Gerroff," Dean mumbles, louder, and presses his face further into the pillow.

Sam snorts and shifts so his body fully blankets his brother's, dropping a kiss on the back of his neck.

Dean grumbles and struggles weakly, but quickly goes lax under Sam's weight. After a moment, Sam can feel his brother's breathing rate drop again and his ribcage rumbles as he snores. With a smirk, Sam slides back down Dean's body, taking a moment to appreciate how accidentally sexy he is. People like Dean shouldn't be allowed in public.

His hands wander up the backs of his brother's thighs, pushing under the edge of his boxers. Dean shifts, but doesn't wake again. Sam carefully eases his brother's boxers off, covering Dean's ass with his hands instead. He kisses the freckles littering Dean's lower back, then bites gently on one cheek to see if that's enough to wake him. Dean twitches, lets out a sigh, and settles.

Sam grins to himself, kissing his way across Dean's ass. Dean really has a fantastic ass. It would probably be the answer to world peace if Sam was willing to share. Which he isn't. He gently pulls Dean's cheeks apart and licks a slow stripe over his hole. He's still loose from last night, and that sends a shudder down Sam's spine. Dean makes some noise that sounds like he's starting to wake up again, so Sam glances up.

Dean's picked his head up and is looking groggily over his shoulder, the hood of Sam's sweatshirt bunched up by his face. "Can I help you?" he mumbles, hair sticking up everywhere and voice rough. Sam grins and ducks his head again to tease his brother's rim, lax and open.

Dean just lets out a breathy sigh and settles in for the ride, and Sam can't help but love his brother when he's sleepy and pliant like this. Mornings are his favorites.


	2. Phone Sex

It was a crushing and debilitating sort of guilt. The kind that kept him up at night, sweating with a hand shoved down the front of his boxers, shamefully digging his teeth into his pillow and begging that Jess wouldn't be home early. The kind of guilt that made his orgasm seem like a condemnation, especially when his brother's name slipped past his lips on particularity bad nights.

Sam couldn't stand it anymore. He couldn't do it. He'd been staring at his phone for what felt like hours. It was his goddamn birthday, and the prick didn't even have the decency to call? That's all it was, just irritation. Not a forlorn aching in his chest that reminded him of the Dean-shaped hole in his life. 

Fuck it.

He threw himself to the other side of the bed and snatched his phone from the bedside table, dialing the number he knew by heart. It might as well have been carved in his skull. The line rang for so long that he was afraid it would go to voicemail.

"Yeah?"

Oh God, it was good to hear his brother's voice.

"Dean. Christ, Dean. Uh...how you been?"

"...Sammy? That you?"

The nickname sent a guilty thrill through his body.

"Yeah, Dean. It's me."

"Jesus, man. Hey, it's your birthday, ain't it? I was about to call."

Sam's unoccupied hand wandered to his crotch almost unconsciously, jerking away like he'd been burned when he realized it.

"Uh, really? I mean, I haven't heard from you in so long."

"I know. It's my fault." Dean paused for a long time. "Had a dream about you, y'know."

Sam almost laughed. "Yeah? Doin' what?"

"I was suckin' your dick," Dean said matter-of-factly. Sam nearly choked.

"Dude— What?"

His brother continued like it was nothing, but Sam could hear the barely-there shake of uncertainty. "Yeah, I was takin' your big cock nice'n deep. You were talking about how much you like my lips..."

Sam squeezed his dick through his boxers, not quite believing what he was hearing. "Dean, you're not—"

"You were moaning my name. Bucking up into my mouth. Bet you'd like that, huh?"

Sam swallowed thickly. He couldn't breathe.

"Touch yourself, Sam. Stroke that big cock for me."

"Dean, I—"

"Do it, Sam."

Sam shimmied out of his boxers in a rush, wrapping a hand around his cock and practically gluing the phone to his ear.

"Bet you wish it was my mouth on you, don'tcha? Close your eyes. Imagine it's me. I'm stroking your cock nice'n slow."

Sam obeyed because at this point he would've died before arguing.

"You getting all hot, aren'tcha? Speed up. You can hear me in your ear, you can almost feel my breath, can't you. You're so hot like this, Sam."

Dean's voice had gained confidence and Sam complied, stroking his cock a little faster, panting into the phone.

"That's it, Sammy. You're probably thrusting into your hand now. God, you sound so damn good coming apart for me."

A choked moan made its way past his lips, his hips working up into his hand. Sam couldn't remember ever getting this hard so fast.

"C'mon, Sam. Come for me."

Sam lost it. He climaxed with a muffled cry, teeth digging into his lip. Somewhere, under the sounds of his blood rushing in his ears and his own labored breathing, he heard his brother's amused voice.

"Happy birthday, Sammy."


	3. Closet Handjob

The tiny closet felt humid and tight – or maybe that was just his collar. Their elbows jostled, bumping the wall and the door and probably making more noise than they should've considering it was two o'clock in the afternoon on a Wednesday.

"Cas– Cas, we gotta–"

"Quiet, Dean. Someone could hear."

"I /know/, that's what I'm– mmph."

Lips pressed against his insistently, silencing any other concerns Dean might have. Which he was totally okay with, really. His hands wandered to Cas's ass, slipping into the back of his slacks and squeezing tightly. He grinned against the other's lips at the gasp he got.

Castiel's fingers opened up his slacks faster than humanly possible, working into his boxers and wrapping around his cock. Dean sucked in a breath, felt Cas's lips curl in a smirk.

"Do you like that, Dean?"

"Yeah... C'mon, touch me."

Cas stroked his cock slowly, thumb dragging over the head in that way he seemed to know drove Dean crazy. Dean let out a low moan against the other man's mouth, biting Cas's bottom lip.

"Faster, Cas."

"You're so needy," Castiel said mildly, grinning against Dean's jaw as he sped up his hand, flicking his wrist at the end of each stroke.

Dean struggled to breathe, sucking in the thick air. Cas laughed in his ear and Jesus fucking Christ that was hot. His hips bucked forward of their own accord, begging for more. Dean's chest rose and fell with the slide of Cas's hand, faster over his cock as the shorter man nosed against the hollow of his throat, drawing his tongue over the sweat collecting there.

"You're perfect like this," Cas murmured, sounding almost awed.

Dean responded with a vague smirk and a muffled moan from behind his hand. His skin was on fire under his clothes, the dress shirt sticking to his skin like Cas was sticking to his skin, bodies pressed close despite the insufferable heat building in his gut, the slick slide of Cas's quick fingers oh Jesus—

Castiel swallowed his cry, Dean's hips jerking into his hand as he came, panting against the other's lips. Through the haze settling on his gaze, Dean saw Cas lift his hand and lick a soiled finger, and Dean's eyes probably rolled back in his head.

"Mother of Christ," he mumbled, yanking Cas in for a bruising kiss. The other chuckled and licked his tongue into Dean's mouth. Maybe Wednesdays weren't so bad.


	4. Post-Case Sex

The door barely had time to shut before Sam was on him, hands pawing at his tie and yanking on his buttons. Dean laughed, pushing his fingers into his brother's overlong hair.

"Whatsa matter, Sammy? You seem a little riled up."

Sam growled at him, ducking to bite at his throat. Dean let a groan slip past his teeth, tipping his head back and stepping blindly backwards toward the bed.

"You're a fucking tease, Dean Winchester." One of Sam's hands dropped to his ass, squeezing viciously and drawing a sharp gasp from Dean. "Freakin' rubbing yourself against me all damn day. Can't keep your damn hands to yourself, can you? Had half a mind to fuck you over the hood right outside the police station."

Dean shivered at that, accommodating so Sam could push his shirt off his shoulders. It got stuck and Sam got frustrated, so he just planted a hand on Dean's chest and shoved him towards the bed. Dean chuckled and fell back, winking at Sam. So maybe he'd been a little bit of a tease. He just wanted to see Sam all hot and bothered. And god, was he hot. His brother looked down at him with unadulterated lust, his shirt partially unbuttoned and tie in his hands. The smirk alone was enough to make Dean want to cream himself. He gave Sam a wicked grin and spread his legs.

Sam moved so fast that Dean barely had time to process it. He yanked off Dean's slacks and boxers, manhandling him onto his stomach and pulling the shirt down far enough that it trapped his arms together. Dean's heart skipped a beat.

"Dude, what do you think you're— ow!"

Sam smacked his ass, and he could practically heard the smirk. "Shut up. You made me wait all day, Dean, okay? You've been asking for this all day." He dragged a finger down Dean's hip, lightly stroking his fully hardened cock as if to say, 'Told you so.' Dean huffed.

Sam prepped him quickly, though he made a point of avoiding his prostate, despite Dean's begging (which he would later call reasoning, because Dean Winchester did not beg). By the time Sam's cock was pressing against his hole, Dean was sweating and panting and he needed Sam in him about a week ago.

Sam pushed into him in one smooth motion, pulled his hips back at the same time. Dean arched with a loud moan, because Jesus fuck, he really had been kind of a little really desperate for Sam.

His brother started right off on a brutal pace, mumbling nonsense about how good Dean felt, and he could only respond with broken curses and unsteady moans.

"Sammy– God, I needed you–"

"Yeah, you're– ah, you're kind of a slut when you're desperate."

Dean was too into it to bother getting indignant, because yeah. He was a little bit of a slut. He pressed back on Sam, his gasps whooshing past his lips in time with the creaking of the bed frame. Too soon, he was clenching and his spine was curving and he was crying out and climaxing hard. He felt Sam fill him with a bitten-back groan, then his brother's heavy weight settled on top of him, pressing him into the mattress.

"Get off," he mumbled, exhausted.

Sam kissed the back off his neck and murmured, "No."

Dean sighed, resigned to sleeping under his brother's heat. He didn't mind it so much. At least this was a decent ending to a long and shitty case.


	5. Cuddling

Dean got dressed reluctantly, settling back on the bed with his fingers laced behind his head and his legs crossed at the ankle. His skin still buzzed with the pleasant aftershocks, hips dully sore from where Sam's fingers dug into them. His brother was propped up against the headboard, thumbing through John's journal with an intense expression.

"Sam."

Nothing.

"Sam."

His brother flipped the page, ignoring him.

"Sa-am."

Silence. Dean huffed and turned on his side, lifting Sam's shirt and kissing at his hip. Sam tolerated it until Dean bit him, scowling and swatting his head.

"Would you knock it off? We're behind on this case as it is."

Dean frowned, pushing Sam's shirt up farther and kissing a bruise he'd left earlier. Sam shifted, sighed, and went back to the journal. Dean busied himself finding every bite mark he'd left on Sam's stomach and kissing it. After a while, one hand wandered to Sam's thigh, then slipped over to cup his crotch and squeeze.

Sam jumped, scowling and batting Dean's hand away. "Cut it out! We literally just had sex. Can't you wait?"

Dean made a low grumbly noise, rolling over and into Sam's lap, forcing his brother to lift the journal out of the way. He buried his face in Sam's chest, nosing over the space between his pecs and squeezing his arms around Sam's waist. He heard his brother give an irritated sigh.

"Dean. I'm serious."

Dean made a noncommittal noise, muffled against Sam's shirt.

Sam sighed again, dropping a hand into his hair. "You okay? What's up?"

"Nothin'. I just love you."

"Right. What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Dean. I usually have to tie you down to get you to cuddle. What's with you?"

Dean sighed, letting Sam settle a leg between his. He shook his head, mumbling an incomprehensible answer into his brother's chest.

"What?"

"I said, aftercare is a thing."

He felt Sam tense with confusion, running a hand through his hair.

"But Dean, it's not like...like we did anything hardcore."

Dean slanted his eyes away, sitting up a little. The journal was forgotten on the bed, Sam's wide, honest eyes watching him with mild concern.

"I just... I know that I said I don't like– and I don't– but sometimes– 'cause we never– 'cause you think I don't wanna– but sometimes–"

A grin split Sam's face. "You wanna cuddle?"

Dean scowled deeply, burrowing closer to his brother. "No. That's not what I said."

Sam laughed, his voice turning to an annoying sing-song. "You wanna cu~ddle. Dean Winchester, the epitome of masculinity and testosterone, wants to cuddle."

"Shut the fuck up. This is why I don't talk to you about this stuff."

Dean moved to get up, managing to almost get away before Sam's arms wound around his waist and pulled him back into his lap, Dean's back against his brother's chest. Sam bit his ear lightly, squeezing his waist.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to neglect your cuddling quota. You're just cold, right? Here, I'm hot. Sit with me." Sam gathered Dean against his chest, smiling vaguely.

Dean sighed. He wasn't cold. Sam was just giving him an excuse. The bastard knew him too well. Nonetheless, he settled on Sam's lap, grumbling even as sleep pushed at his eyelids. He drifted off to his brother's heartbeat under his ear.


	6. Doctor/Patient

"There's nothing wrong with me, doc. I don't need to be here."

Sam made a quiet noise of disbelief, finishing the note on his clipboard before looking up. Dean Winchester was his challenge patient: schizophrenia, paranoia, dependency on some long-dead brother, hallucinations, and a little bit of plain old crazy. Among other things, of course.

Despite all that, you'd never be able to tell. Dean had an excellent sense of humor, had a sharp wit and all brain capacities functioning in full. He always sounded reasonable and rational, even if he was talking about angels or demons or the apocalypse. It was only every once in a while that he'd freak out because he thought an orderly was possessed. 

"C'mon, Sam. You know I'm not crazy."

"It's Dr. Wesson to you," Sam said firmly but not unkindly. He'd learned over time that he has to watch his relationships with the patients: he was their doctor and occasionally their confidant, but not their friend.

"Whatever, /Sam/."

Sam sighed and laid the clipboard down, crossing his arms and smiling tiredly at Dean. If he were inclined to pick favorites, Dean would be his favorite. He always felt like Dean was the only patient he could really have a conversation with, which usually led to him unloading his complaints about the day on Dean, which was an unfair burden to give him as a patient.

"Any aches or pains, Dean?"

"Nope. But Chuck is a real pain in my ass."

"He beat you at chess again, didn't he."

"He cheated!"

"Any irritation of the skin, eyes, mouth or throat?"

"No."

"You've been eating?"

"Yup."

"And taking your pills?"

"Yeah." Dean hopped down from the examination table, doing a little round of the room before standing in front of Sam and crossing his arms, popping a hip. Dean tended to get restless sitting down for a while, and other doctors wanted to call it ADHD, but Sam knew it was just the way he was.

When Dean did a another lap, Sam caught sight of his ass from behind the flaps of the hospital gown. As impossible as it seemed, Dean rocked hospital gowns. Which was a sick thought to have as his doctor. Despite his time in the institution, Dean was still fit and firm and proud of it. The gown left a wide V of skin visible from to line of his shoulders to the small of his back where it was tied off. The tie pulled it tight just above his hips until it continued to mid-thigh, showing off most of his legs.

Sam cleared his throat. "Up," he said, patting the table. Dean complied, hopping up and laying back. He was almost eerily still as Sam pressed his fingers into Dean's neck and jaw, down to his chest to make sure everything felt the way it was supposed to. They'd done this so many times that Dean could probably do it himself, so their silence was comfortable and easy. Dean rolled over without having to be told to, settling under Sam's hand as he checked his lungs.

"Lemme check your knees."

Dean sat up on the edge of the table, patiently watching Sam squeeze and tap his knees, letting his reflex kick his leg out. When Sam glanced up, he was a little started to catch an intensity in Dean's eyes.

"Y'know, I haven't kissed anybody since I've got here. It's been a couple years. Well, besides Wendy, but she started it. I don't want her."

Sam nodded absently, leaning forward to check Dean's eyes, unconsciously positioning himself between the patient's knees. He realized it too late when Dean wrapped his legs around Sam's waist, strong thighs pulling him in and a hand going up to lace in his hair. Sam was frozen for a moment.

Dean's face was way too close, smirking. The hospital gown had slipped off one shoulder, flashing a scandalous amount of skin. Sam swallow thickly, reacting by instinct and grabbing the back of one of Dean's thighs when he pulled himself so close Sam was afraid he'd fall off the table.

"I wanna kiss you, Sam."

Sam stared back at him, a hand planted on the table to keep his balance, shaking his head slowly.

"No. It's inappropriate."

Dean just grinned at him, legs winding so tight Sam didn't think he'd be able to break away if he wanted to. Which of course he wanted too. This was an unprofessional situation.

"C'mon. I've seen you lookin' at me. You wanna."

Sam let out a breath, trying to look anywhere but Dean's sharp green eyes. He should be more composed than this. Steadying his nerves, he met Dean's gaze and opened his mouth to speak and instead got the patient's lips pressed to his.

Dean kissed with his whole body, hips and legs and arms moving in tandem with his lips, drawing Sam closer and making an airtight seal of their two bodies. Sam found himself pressing into it, leaning forward and licking his tongue into Dean's mouth. That earned him a moan that only spurred him on. The hand on Dean's thigh slid up and under his gown to grip at the bare skin of his hip, squeezing and hauling him closer. His other hand wandered up Dean's bare back and over his exposed shoulder, letting out a quiet groan when Dean pulled hard on his hair.

Sam could feel Dean's heart against his chest, how hot it was between them, the way Dean's lips moved expertly against his and how goddamn good it felt and the curve of Dean's ass just under his hand...

Sam broke away with an unsteady breath, but he couldn't go far. He stared at his patient, who was flushed and panting lightly with half-lidded eyes. Dean grinned lethargically.

"See? That wasn't so bad."


	7. Pre-Stanford

Something was different about Sam tonight. He was usually the sappier one, more inclined towards outbursts of emotion when they had sex, and usually Dean tolerated it, but tonight was different. It wasn't obvious or overbearing, just...there. It burned along with the arousal in his gut, and something told him he should just let Sam do as he pleased and refrain from bitching.

Sam had been acting weird from the get go. He'd given Dean this cryptic, sad look that was impossible to interpret. Before he could ask, Sam's lips were pressed firmly against his and Dean discarded the look as unimportant.

Sam was responsive to his every moan and gasp as he spread Dean out, his mouth moving attentively over his neck and shoulders and chest. Some weird vibe wafted off his brother, something like worship and deep affection and unspeakable sadness. Dean didn't need to even look at him to feel it. He didn't ask, just let his brother tease him into oblivion.

Dean shivered and whined as his brother's tongue dipped into him, pulling his legs to his chest and mumbling quiet praise. John was in the next room, after all. Probably drunk out of his mind, but still. A thick atmosphere muffled their quiet sounds, a niggling worry that wormed into Dean's head. It was forgotten by the time Sam had gotten a finger inside Dean and was rubbing his prostate.

Dean felt like he was floating, and it wasn't just Sam's godly tongue. Some indescribable emotion was hazing his mind, warning him to cherish this moment. His chest tightened with some unnamed feeling. Dean pulled his brother up and kissed him like it was the last thing he'd do. When he broke away for air, the look in Sam's eyes unsettled him so deeply he didn't think he'd ever forget it.

"You okay?" he murmured, the first thing he'd said since Sam first kissed him.

His brother nodded, blinking and looking down. His finger nudged against Dean's prostate again, distracting him long enough to forget his question. Their gazes met as Sam pushed himself into Dean, and Dean was overcome with how much he fucking /loved/ his brother. His breath left him in a wavering gasp, Sam's arms firm around his back, pressing their bodies close like that could possibly equate to the cosmic bond they shared (and it had to be cosmic or some shit, because nothing earthly could describe what Dean felt for Sam, what he saw reflected in his brother's eyes).

They didn't move especially quickly or roughly, but Dean's whole body felt like it was simmering under a low flame, his stomach lurching with something so strong it flattened Dean's lungs. He pressed his lips desperately to Sam's to muffle himself, shocked to find that tears were creeping from his brother's eyes. God, Sam's eyes. Dean kissed each tear off his face, licking them off his lips like maybe he could keep a little bit of Sam inside himself all the time. Sam buried his face in Dean's shoulder, a hand tracing over the leg Dean had clamped around his waist.

"It's okay, Sammy, I'm right here. Right here, Sammy. It's alright."

They came at the same time, panting into each other's mouths, and it wasn't that that overwhelmed Dean so much as the myriad of emotion on Sam's face. He couldn't even put a name to most of what he saw. His brother's expression finally settled on tired affection, his smile crushingly sad as he kissed Dean. Dean wanted to ask, wanted to make it better, but the weight of what passed between them exhausted him, and he fell asleep in his brother's arms before his head even hit the pillow.

\---

Sam watched his brother's sleeping form, the stripes of light dragging across Dean's body and emphasizing the curves of his back. He couldn't stay. He couldn't. he shouldered his bag, turning away before he could convince himself into stay. He paused at the door, though, just to take one last look, and Dean was standing there, the sheets wrapped around his shoulder and his expression stoic.

"You're leaving, aren't you."

Sam sighed, eyes turning down sadly. "Dean, I-"

Dean stepped forward and kissed him, smiling thinly to hide the incredible loss Sam could see just under his skin. "It's okay, Sam. Just...call every once in a while, yeah?"

Sam swallowed and nodded. He moved to hug his brother, but just ended up staring at him for too long, despairing over how he'd survive a day without Dean. He turned and left without another word, fisting his eyes at the final, foreboding click of the door as it shut.


	8. Camera Sex

"Dean, I dunno about this."

"It'll be fine. Just focus on me," Dean mutters, shuffling stuff around as he sets up the camera.

"What if... What if somebody finds the camera?"

Dean shrugs, flashing that dumb grin over his shoulder. "I ain't shy. And you've got nothing to be shy about," he says with a cheesy eyebrow waggle and an oh-so-subtle glance at Sam's crotch.

Sam rolls his eyes, leaning back on his hands and huffing. This is a bad idea. It's not so much the being on camera that bothers him, it's where that video might end up afterwards. Dean assures him it'll be safe tucked in his underwear drawer, but Sam suspects that's probably the worst place for it.

Regardless, he's as helpless as anyone would be when his brother spins and stalks towards him, a sexy smirk playing on his lips. Sam tries to stay cool, but he's getting hot and a lap full of Dean is more than enough to hurry along the blood easing towards his crotch.

It's smooth sailing for the first little while, so much so that Sam forgets about the camera. They make out, pull each other's hair, grind and grope like teenagers. It's not until Sam slips his hands into the back of Dean's jeans that he pauses, pulling away and looking at his brother in confusion. Dean grins wickedly, though there's a hint of a flush on his face. Sam's expression turns awed.

"You didn't."

"I did. Wanna see?"

Sam can't get his brother's pants off fast enough. Underneath, he's wearing a fine pair of...

Pink.

Lacy.

Panties.

Sam can't breathe. His fingers trace the edges of the panties around Dean's ass, eyes locked on the way his hardening dick stretches the waistband and sticks out the tiniest bit. His fingers wander down to the fabric over Dean's hole and he finds that it's wet. What little breath he managed to get back catches in his throat.

"Oh my god, Dean, did you open yourself up for me?" He starts rubbing, teasing his brother through the thin material, relishing the way Dean squirms. "You're already all wet and loose for me. So /eager/ for it."

Dean's definitely flushing now and Sam smirks. He knows that the back of Dean's neck gets red when he blushes, and he'd glad the camera is catching that. Sam grabs his brother by his hips, pushing him down on Sam's denim-trapped cock. Dean moans, filthy and long and little bit exaggerated, but it's alright, because he looks gorgeous like this.

Sam makes quick work of tearing off his and Dean's shirts, then opening his jeans enough to get his dick out. He's patient, though.

"Saaaam," his brother whines, rutting down on him as he slides his cock between Dean's cheeks, loving the way the satiny fabric of the panties feels against his dick.

"Mm. I'm getting to it. Turn around."

Dean gives him a confused look at first, sitting back on Sam's lap.

"I want the camera to see you."

Dean's blush returns with a vengeance, along with Sam's smirk. His brother grumbles, but obliges, shifting around until his back is to Sam's chest, legs spread and ass pushed back on Sam's cock. Sam doesn't hesitate to grab his brother by the underside of each thigh and lift him, biting at Dean's ear. Dean shudders visibly.

"Pull your panties to the side and get my cock in you, Dean."

He's sure to say it loud enough for the camera to hear. The back of Dean's neck goes a pretty red color, so Sam kisses it. Dean reached down and pulls the material out of the way, lining up Sam's cock with a quiet moan. It's too quiet. Sam lets Dean drop almost all the way down, pushing himself deep into his brother, and Dean lets out the most beautiful cry, arching his spine back against Sam. Sam grins on his shoulder, biting. Much better.

His pace is hard and punishing right away. He lifts Dean as he pulls back and drops him down as his hips buck up. It's perfect, especially the way his brother's hands flutter, like they don't know whether to reach back and fist in Sam's hair or go down and tease his own cock through the panties. Either way, he whimpers and moans and begs so pretty as Sam's mouth moves up the side of his neck, his entire body jostled with the force of each thrust.

Sam can imagine what he'll look like in the video. Dean will be flushed all pink, eyes squeezed shut with his head thrown back, fuckable lips parted, legs spread as wide as they'll go as Sam's cock pistons into him. It's gorgeous, and it has Sam's coming way sooner than he wants to. He bites hard into Dean's shoulder, slamming him down, and his brother climaxes with a hoarse shout. They rock through the aftershocks, shuddering and groaning quietly, Dean going limp against Sam. Sam wonders if the camera has managed to pick up some of the come he can feel leaking out of Dean's ass and down Sam's dick.

"We could totally make money off that video," Dean finally manages, getting up on wobbly legs to end the video.

Sam just smirks, idly wondering what other kinds of things he can convince his brother to do on camera.


	9. Demon!Dean

Dean's been staring at him for at least the past fifty miles. His eyes are their usual green, but they hold something darker, something ugly and evil hiding in those irises. His gaze isn't Dean's contemplative, cryptic, glazed-eye look. It isn't his 'we need to talk' stare, and it isn't even his 'pull over and bend over' smolder. It's something dispassionate and lustful, the eyes of somebody who calls it fucking rather than love-making.

The worst part is that isn't not outright staring. It's glances every couple seconds, prolonged drilling into the side of Sam's head when he'd trying desperately to pretend he can't see Dean mentally stripping him.

Sam's been withholding sex. And for a damn good reason too, but Dean doesn't seem to think his new-found demonhood is enough of an excuse for Sam to be forcing him to blue ball it. Not that Dean doesn't go out and fuck strangers (it hurts somewhere in Sam's gut whenever Dean comes back smelling like sex, because they'd been doing so good before all this) but he's made it clear he prefers Sam.

One night, Sam made the mistake of asking why Dean doesn't just take what he wants. Dean's eyes flashed black, and though Sam suspected it was purely for effect, he still shivered as his brother said with a cold grin, "You're a better fuck when you're into it. Or at least cooperating."

And now they're pulling over and Sam's not even bothering to ask why, he just looks Dean in the eye – green, thank god – and says bluntly, "No."

Dean just smirks like he knows something Sam doesn't and slides across the bench seat, all wrong in his movement and mannerisms, but it's still his body that lines up perfectly with Sam's as he climbs into Sam's lap. Sam's hands stay planted stiffly on the seat, face rigid when Dean leans in like he's going to kiss him. Sam knows better; this Dean doesn't do kissing. He ducks his head instead to suck a bruise onto Sam's jaw, hips rocking slowly, rhythmically down on Sam's. Sam doesn't stop him.

"C'mon, this ain't a spectator sport, Sammy."

Sam's tensed and unyielding, vainly hoping that Dean'll get bored and let off if he doesn't react. Instead, his brother seems to take it as a challenge, his narrowed green eyes flicking black with a cold, cold grin.

"Fine. You wanna play that way? Let's play."

Sam know there's no point in trying to overpower him. He can't, not with Dean's demon powers. The best he can do is do nothing, silently protest against this...this facsimile of love that this /demon/ is forcing him into.

Dean doesn't waste time. After all, it just about getting off for him. The farthest he goes with undressing them his pulling their jeans down far enough to free their cocks. (Sam can't help that he's hard. Dean's still good-looking as ever and it's hard to bury the feelings he had for Dean before he became...this.) The evil smirk that Dean gives him as he leans back against the dashboard and stretches himself out is almost as hot as the wet slide of his fingers into himself. Dean claims he likes the burn now, like to be reminded of pain when he fucks, so he prefers spit over lube, and honestly, it's not good enough.

Sam would be worried about damaging his brother's body the demon sinks down on his cock, definitely not stretched or slicked enough, but Sam gets a little bit of vindictive satisfaction knowing he's hurting this son of a bitch. The demon settles on his lap, leaning forward to put his mouth by Sam's ear, biting him a little too hard.

"Bet you've always dreamed about fucking me real hard, Sammy. But you were always so careful with me. I can take it, you know. I know how you want it. You wanna see your come leaking out of me as you fuck me because you've already fucked me once, because you banged me once already but I'm such a /slut/ for cock that I begged for it again. Yeah, I can see it when you look at me. You want it filthy and fast and fuckin'—"

Dean cuts himself off with a ragged yell as Sam thrusts his hips up, knowing exactly the angle to hit his prostate. More than anything, he just wants the bastard the shut up. His fingers crush into Dean's hips – when did they get there? – their movement rough and graceless and dispassionate. Dean shouts, screams, writhes and arches his spine, mesmerizing and perfect in Sam's lap. He can almost forget what his brother is now.

Sam's breathing hard through gritted teeth, watching his brother fuck himself wildly on his cock, eyes flashing between green and black like he's lost control of them. He feels so tight and tense, like a bomb ready to go off, but he keeps his lips clamped tight, doesn't make a sound as Dean gets louder. That is, until Dean manages to slit his eyes open, green and whole and shining with the desperation Sam loves seeing when they make love.

"Fill me up," Dean murmurs, pushing himself down with a cry.

An anguished, broken groan spills from Sam's lips, heat and cold flooding his body all at once, hips jerking up spastically as he drowns in his guilt. He can't see for a moment and he imagines that his eyes have gone black.

Dean strips his cock for a couple strokes before very purposefully coming onto Sam's shirt. He slides off of Sam lap after, smirking insufferably.

Sam can't look at him, head falling back, eyes falling shut with the weight of his shame. Dean starts the car without a word, and it's only when they pull back onto the road that Sam composes himself enough to zip his pants back up. He can see Dean's self-satisfied smirk from the corner of his eye, like his brother knows he's won. Sam sinks into his seat, skin coated in sweat and damnation.


	10. Facial

"No."

Dean's expression was stony, arms crossed tightly across his chest.

"Dean, c'mon. Please?"

"I said no, Sam."

"Dean, it's not even that bad. It's not like it's gonna hurt."

"What part of 'no' don't you get?"

"C'mon, just this one time. I promise—"

"Sam. No. Now shut up."

Dean's nails bit into his brother's hips, warning Sam that he was done with the conversation. His lips closed around his brother's cock, sucking lightly on the head. Hopefully that would get him to shut it.

"Dean– don't just– fuck, Dean, _stop_."

Apparently not.

"What?" he snapped, cocking a brow and wrapping a hand loosely around the base of Sam's cock. "You can't let this go long enough for me to fuckin' blow you?"

Sam sighed and looked down at him, meeting Dean's irate gaze with those damn puppy eyes. "No, I can't, Dean. I'm not even asking that much."

Dean gave his brother an incredulous look. The idiot just wouldn't drop it. "You think me letting you jizz on my face isn't that much?"

"It's not!"

"I said no. That's final."

"Dean—"

"Shaddup. My knees are hurting and if I hear another word outta you, I'm gonna fuckin' walk away."

Sam huffed, though the sound quickly turned to a moan when Dean sucked him down. He seemed like he'd given up on the stupid request, or was at least distracted enough to forget it. Dean eased up, sliding his tongue along the underside of Sam's cock. He would've smirked if he could when Sam shuddered.

Sam was gorgeous like this. When he shook and trembled, jaw clenched to hold back moans, hips twitching because he knew Dean didn't like it when he fucked his throat but his self-control wasn't quite strong enough to still himself. Dean let Sam's cock slip further into his mouth, feeling spit slide from the corners of his lips.

"Look so damn good like this... Every time, so fucking hot." Sam's voice was rough, thumb stroking over the edges of Dean's lips and he tolerated it because maybe he felt a little bad for saying no. He rolled his eyes though, and it earned him a hand in his hair and a sharp tug. Dean made a noise of protest, and that only seemed to turn Sam on more. His brother's fingers dug into his scalp, pushing his head forward until Sam's cock was nudging the opening of his throat. Looked like Sam was gonna try and take what he could get.

Dean glanced up and that needy expression was gone from his brother's face, replaced by a cool, cocked-brow look, like, 'You gonna suck it or not?'

Dean rolled his eyes again. Prick.

"C'mon, we both know you can take more. Hell, you like it, don't you? Havin' a cock stuffed down your throat... It turns you on."

Dean shuddered and hid it with a shake of his shoulders, glaring half-heartedly up at his brother. Sam just gave him a shit-eating grin and pushed on the back of his head. With a grumbling noise around Sam's cock, Dean let it slip into his throat. Maybe he did like it a little. But only a little bit.

Sam's reaction was immediate. He bucked his hips forward, pushing his dick fully into Dean's mouth and moaning, holding him down. Dean let out a sputtering noise of protest – not because he couldn't breathe, just because Sam was an asshole for doing that. Sam grinned and let him move back a little.

"See? You're so goddamn hot like this. I love seeing that pretty mouth stretched around my cock. God, you're sexy."

A flush crawled up the back of Dean's neck. So he had a thing for dirty talk. Sue him. He bobbed his head, swallowing around Sam's cock and moaning to see what kind of reaction that would draw. He'd planted his hands on Sam's hips to keep him from thrusting, but they strained forward anyway. Dean's brow furrowed, concentrating hard on both holding Sam down and working his tongue around the base of his cock.

"Dean—" The cool attitude was gone. Now Sam was really breathless, managing a crooked smirk. "Let me– C'mon, let me fuck your mouth."

Dean looked up at Sam. His brother's face was flushed and Christ he looked desperate. Fuck, it was hot. He huffed like it was a Herculean effort to let his muscles go lax, reluctantly lifting his hands off Sam's hips.

His brother went at it right away. Sam's fingers dug into his scalp, holding his head still as he bucked into Dean's mouth. Dean must've let out some vulnerable, breathy noise, because Sam groaned long and loud and sped up, forcing sharp gasps from Dean's mouth.

"Fuck– fuck yeah." A wavering smirk. "My big brother takes cock like a pornstar."

The flush on his neck spread up to his cheeks, his offended glare too unsteady to look threatening. Dean was certain he looked utterly debauched. His face was pink, spit and precome leaking from of the sides of his mouth and running down his chin, tears pricking at the corner of his eyes, eyebrows pushed up in what felt like a helpless expression.  
Sam seemed to agree, and probably found it really hot, because in a quick motion, he yanked Dean's head back, pulled his cock free, and came across Dean's face with a shuddering moan.

Dean was outraged first, then he considered getting pissed, but he settled eventually on just being resigned. With a sigh, he wiped some come off his cheek, glancing up at Sam as he licked it slowly off his finger. Sam groaned, whipping out his phone in a flash and taking a picture.

Dean's mood had started getting playful, but when he heard the shutter, his expression turned murderous. Sam beamed at him.

"Sam, I swear to God–"

"Dean, if you even think about deleting it, I'll send it to everyone we know. I'm dead serious."

Dean sputtered wordlessly, indignant and pretty certain that he looked ridiculous getting angry with Sam's spunk on his cheeks and lips and nose and fuckin'–

He stormed off, slamming the bathroom door, but he could still hear Sam laughing. What a dick.   
  



	11. Wall Sex

Dean hates the way Sam hugs him.

It's a full-bodied thing, a press of chests and hips and thighs that's far too close and un-brotherly. It's a recent thing that follows his return from Purgatory, too soft and warm and familiar compared to the blood and sharp edges of Dean's previous year.

He doesn't like it because Sam buries his face in his shoulder, inhales deeply like he's breathing in Dean's scent and essence and being. Because Sam's hair brushes his ear, overlong and begging to be pulled on.

He doesn't like it because it reminds him of the inches that separate them, of how much broader his little brother is, of the swelling muscles in his chest and arms that make Dean feel scrawny.

He doesn't like it because Sam puts both his arms under Dean's instead of the regulation-approved, one-over-one-under Bro Code way. Because Sam wraps his arms around Dean's waist and squeezes, like he could just pick Dean up. Because Sam can curls his arms so far around Dean that he can grab his opposite side. Because it forces Dean's spine to curve in towards Sam in a way that aches a little, that traps him completely in his brother's embrace.

He doesn't like it because Sam pushes their hips together, melds their bodies into one tight enough that Dean forgets what it's like to breathe for himself when he can feel Sam's pulse in his whole body, regulating the pace of his own. Because he forgets for a moment that there's anything at all beyond Sam's arms and chest and overwhelming there-ness.

He doesn't it like it because Sam wanders, arms loosening so his hands can traverse the expanse of Dean's back, fingers trekking over the hills of his shoulder blades, dipping into the valley of his spine, smoothing over the plain of the small of his back, curving across the mounds of his ass. Doesn't like it because Sam's strong fingers dig into the thick flesh, squeeze hard before sliding down to claw into the backs of his thighs and haul him up. Doesn't like it because he has to wrap his legs around his brother to stay upright, plaster himself to Sam and tighten his arms around his brother's neck.

He hates it because Sam slams him back against a wall or door or whatever vertical surface is closest and kisses the shit out of him, long fingers wrapping almost all the way around his thighs. Hates it because Sam yanks on his hair and sucks his breath away, rocking his growing arousal against Dean's ass through their jeans.

He definitely hates the way Sam can fuck him  _and_ hold him up at the same time. Hates the way his head bounces off the wall every once in a while because Sam's relentless and at this angle, it's gravity doing most of the work and Sam's just letting Dean fall deeper and deeper onto him. Hates it when his brother shifts in just the wrong way and it has Dean shouting, writhing, definitely not begging. Hates the stifling heat between them and the stupid space that separates them even when they're pressed flush, wishes he could just crawl into Sam's skin and stay there warm forever.

He _despises_ the way Sam leans their foreheads together, mumbles with unbearable honesty about much he– Despises the way his little brother looks at him, awe, affection, lust, need, and the four letter word he can't bring himself to say back.

Most of all, he hates the way Sam brings him down after, thumbs away the wetness on his cheeks, says he knows, he understands, Dean doesn't need to say it because Sam can see it, and it's okay if Dean's not sure about this yet, and Sam can sleep on the couch since there's only one bed, if Dean's okay with that? He hates the way he can't help but give a watery laugh and shove his brother towards the bed, collapse on top of him and pass out with an ease reserved for only the most relaxing nights.

He hates waking up to his brother's huge, warm body curled around his, reassuring and solid. He hates feeling Sam's breath on the back of his neck, hates the way one of his brother's legs wedges between his own, the too-familiar weight and shape of his arm that fits perfectly into the dip of Dean's side.

He really doesn't like it.

Honest. 


	12. Angst

Angsty Destiel  
  
They always seemed so eternal, the Winchesters. They'd survived monsters and ghosts and the apocalypse and the fall of the angels and still stood on their two feet and yet here they were.  
  
Dean's breath was wheezing and sickly, probably from a punctured lung. It rattled Castiel each time his friend sucked in a breath, shaky and wavering and just waiting for the last. Dean was a dead weight in his lap – he tried not to think his accurate that term was going to be, it was too morbid – his eyes fluttering and struggling to stay open.  
  
"Dean, just let me—"  
  
His fingers had wandered up to Dean forehead almost innocently, but with surprising speed, Dean grabbed them, pushing them away.  
  
"I said—" A cough interrupted him, sounding like he was torn apart inside. "I said no. No more healing and coming back to life. This is it. I'm done."  
  
Castiel was shaking his head before he'd consciously decided on the action, squeezing Dean's shoulders and only stopping when he winced. He didn't understand. Dean Winchester had never been one to roll over and just accept his fate. Why wasn't he fighting?  
  
"Dean, I can't...I won't let you die, Dean. You're my friend."  
  
Dean heaved a watery chuckle, though it devolved to a ragged cough. He spat blood. "C'mon, Cas, I'm dying. Don't friendzone me now."  
  
Castiel's brow furrowed. That seemed irrelevant considering the circumstances. "Dean, I don't think—"  
  
Hands gripped the sides of his face with unnerving strength and pulling him down, chapped lips pressing against his own. Cas was stunned, staring down at Dean. The man chuckled, then shuddered and winced.  
  
"Been wanting to do that for a while."  
  
Castiel understood, he did, and now he was even more desperate not to lose Dean. Now that he knew that they felt the same way, that he could have Dean like that, as his lover and friend and partner in crime, he couldn't let him go. His fingers fisted in Dean's jacket, knuckles white.  
  
"Dean, I won't allow you to—"  
  
"Yes you will, dammit!" Dean's hands closed over his own. "It's my time. I'm done, okay, Cas?"  
  
Castiel abruptly flashed back to his childhood, cupping a dying bird in his hands. He'd been on the edge of tears, looking up pitifully at his Father.  
  
 _"Why can't you just heal him?"_  
  
 _His father sighed in that 'you'll understand someday' way, expression sympathetic. "All living things die eventually, Castiel. It's his time to go."_  
  
 _"But why?"_  
  
He understood now. It was exhausting. It upset the order of the universe. In some way, in his fee decades of life, Dean was far more mature than Castiel despite his eons of life.  
  
Dean seemed to see the change as Castiel's shoulder slumped incrementally, smiling weakly. "I'll see you in heaven, angel."  
  
Castiel bent his head and pressed a soft kiss to Dean's mouth, soft and tiredly responsive under his until his friend sighed out one last breath. Dean's body went lax, like he was simply sleeping, and Castiel gripped him tight.  
  
"Good night, Dean."


	13. In Which Dean Teases Sam and Sam Fucks His Brains Out

Dean huffs, slouching against the couch. It's Friday night and it was supposed to be his turn to pick what to do, but apparently Dean picked "three times in a frickin' row!" and so it's Sam's goddamn turn. And what does he pick? Certainly not the awesome sex Dean had planned out and described in vivid detail to his brother. No. A fucking documentary on motherfucking whales. Seriously. Can't make that shit up.

Dean blows out his cheeks and blows the air out in a farting noise, groaning loudly. Sam ignores him, eyes fixed on the television like some big-ass fish is more interesting that Dean's pouty lips. Please.

Dean slides off the couch as smoothly as silk, kneeling in front of Sam and sensually pushing his knees apart. He looks up, aiming a hot gaze up at his brother and checking for a reaction. Nothing. Asshole. Dean unzips Sam's jeans with his teeth, dragging his tongue over the bulge his cock makes. Sam doesn't so much as twitch -- but Dean supposes it's because his brother's such a celibate monk that he doesn't react much to sexual tension.

Dean works his mouth over Sam's cock, sucking on it through the thin and now damp material of his boxers, and he can feel it getting hard under his lips. Dean smirks smugly, looking back up at Sam. His brother still hasn't reacted besides the hardening of his cock, and he looks almost bored as he watches the goddamn whales moan at each other through the ocean. He hasn't even touched Dean. Fucking dick.

Dean stands, directly in front of Sam, and starts peeling his shirt off. Sam reached for him and Dean thinks that hell yes, he's finally gonna get some, but his brother fucking _pushes him to the side_. _So he can still see the TV._

Oh, it's on.

Dean strips at slowly as possible. Sam's eyes are still glued to the screen, but Dean knows his brother has excellent peripheral and he won't be able to help but see Dean as he wiggles out of his jeans, purposely bending all the way down to push his boxers off. Sam doesn't so much as spare him a glance, but it's gonna take more than a little bit of a cold shoulder to discourage Dean.

He climbs into his brother's lap, sucking on his fingers lasciviously. He slurps on them like it's Sam's cock in his mouth, dragged them over his lips and letting a string of saliva hang between them and his mouth for a moment. Sam's pupil are blown out. Dean smirks. Two points for Dean, zero for Sam.

He lets his fingers trail down his chest and leave a wet trail until he pressing a couple against his hole. Sam is still intently watching the documentary, and Dean still hates whales, but he's having fun now. He teases himself, pushing the tips of his fingers in and then retracting them, moaning in his brother's ear. He can see the goosebumps rise on Sam's skin, and he give a victorious moan as he pushes his fingers in. Dean takes his time playing with himself, prodding at his prostate and nudging his pinky against his rim.

"Think I can take four fingers, Sam? Hmm, I think so. Shame you don't get to see."

Dean inches the fourth finger in with an obscene moan and Sam's cock twitches noticably against his thigh. Dean chuckles suggestively in his ear, and he's pleased to feel another twitch at that. Sam hasn't said a word or moved a muscle, eyes locked on the TV over Dean's shoulder, but his body is doing more than enough talking. Dean makes quick work of finishing his prep and pulling Sam's boxers down far enough to get his cock out.

"I think I'll ride you, Sammy. Bet you're wishin' I'd just shut up and get on your cock, huh? You're so big, too. God, I love feeling your cock split my tight ass open. Makes me feel alive, Sammy, y'know?"

It's just the kind of sappy, dirty shit Sam likes hearing, and Dean laughs as his brother sucks in a harsh breath through his nose. He's not immune to Dean's charms. He's just more resistant than more people.

Dean lowers himself on to Sam's cock, moaning loudly and murmuring in graphic detail about how _hot_ it is to feel Sam fill him up and how Sam can probably _feel_ his rim twitching and God, he _loves_ just being able to fuck himself _nice and slow_ on his brother's huge--

The only warning he gets is that the documentary's narrator's deep, rumbling voice fades and is replaced by a shrill woman's voice, talking about how she loves this or that product. Then Sam slams him down into the cushions, the grunts that leave him almost animalistic as he fucks Dean like it's the last thing he'll do. Dean arches and shouts, eyes screwed up and he wants to yank on Sam's hair, but his hands are pinned, fucking Christ--

Dean doesn't know how long the commercial break is, but Sam's still fucking him brainless when it ends and he's pretty sure his vocabulary is reduced to nothing, but somehow, through the breathless moans and pleasured shouts, he hears the narrator's voice and manages to mumble, "Your show's back on."

Sam doesn't even falter. He presses a hand over Dean's mouth and angles his hips and mother of God Dean's in heaven. Sam's voice is rough and husky and fucking sexy, and Dean can't pick out specific words, but from what he does hear, it's disgustingly filthy and that's hot as _hell_.

Dean's buzzing like a live wire, so when he loses it with a hoarse moan, he's not really surprised. He bucked and whimpers and strains against Sam's hand, trying to breathe from behind his brother's huge paw. Sam's hand slips off his mouth, and he's expecting Sam to finish and collapse on top of him. He doesn't even slow down. If anything, he picks up the pace, and Dean realizes he was _holding back_ before.

Dean can't even muster up the energy to complain, so he goes lax and stays pliant and lets Sam use him, because hey. He kind of did the same thing earlier. His ass aches with oversensitivity and he lets out something like a relieved sob when he finally feels Sam empty his load into him. His brother's breath his hot on his neck, and he's let go of Dean's wrists.

"Y'alright, Sammy?" he murmurs, petting down Sam's sex-crazy hair. Sam huffs against his neck.

"Tonight was my night to pick."

Dean's silent for a second, and then he's laughing so hard his face hurts and he can't breathe again and he doesn't even care that Sam's still buried in him. Sam frowns at him.

"What, 'cause that wasn't awesome?" Dean chuckles, breathless.

Sam cocks a brow, smirking that dangerous smirk. "Oh, you think we're done? I'm punishing you for stealing my night."

Impossibly, Sam is hard again inside him and his hips are starting to move again. Dean groans and just clings to his brother's shoulders, holding on for the ride.


End file.
